Darkest Fever
by mellowenglishgal
Summary: Torin's story. Seventeen-year-old Emmeline Sully, orphaned with a baby sister, is shot by Hunters trying to get to Torin. There is more than meets the eye in shy and sweet Emmeline, who makes Torin want to do naughty things to her! Rating will change.
1. Chapter 1

**A.N.**: I'm really hating Gena Showalter right now for getting a new website, as the old one had all the character bios for the Lords and it took me about an hour to try and find their stats elsewhere! _But_ I also just finished reading _Darkest Passion_ (Aeron's story) and was a wee bit weepy by the end; "_BADEN_!!! Waaaa!" *Clears throat awkwardly!* I cannot wait for Strider and Amun's stories, or Gideon's. Actually, I want Torin's story. Gena's such a tease…

So this is my version of Torin's story. I just had these _thoughts_ and I had to get them down on digital paper…mostly, I was inspired by my new favourite film, _The Blue Lagoon_.

Yeah, this was originally going to be Kane's story, but then I switched some characters around, and even though I haven't written Kane's story yet, you just have to accept that I _will_ at some point, and he ends up with Helène, as in _Helen of Troy_, who might also be a Lord (or Lady!).

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**Darkest Fever**

Chapter One

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Emmeline Sully had led an ordinary life—some would say hopelessly boring. She was seventeen—nearly eighteen—years old and had never been kissed. She never went to parties, or every really left the house except to buy food for the kitchen, or new books. She didn't follow popular culture through television shows or downloading songs, and her sense of fashion was rudimentary at best. The few good friends she had made in Hawaii now no longer bothered answering her emails, and with her little sister Lilli, she had very little opportunity to meet new ones here in Budapest. It didn't help that Emmeline didn't speak Hungarian.

She and Lilli were orphans. Emmeline's parents had moved their family to Budapest only mere months before they were killed, and since then, Emmeline had devoted all her time to taking care of Lilli. She still attended the American International School of Budapest—reluctantly; her parents wouldn't have allowed her to drop out of school just because they'd been killed.

And the saddest thing was, taking care of Lilli had made her happier than she'd been in a long time. At school she had been convinced she wanted to go to university and have a career, by her teachers; her parents had noted she was intelligent and had put her into advanced-placement classes. Emmeline just wanted a family. And a husband—a man who would love her unconditionally, who would hug her in the dark hours of the night when her nightmares woke her, screaming.

She had Lilli, though, and having Lilli was the best blessing she could ever have asked for. Emmeline had been made to mother; her parents used to say she would be a very good wife… But Emmeline had never been in love. She had had crushes—countless crushes, and they had all come to nothing because she was too bashful around boys. Too bashful around anybody, really. She had always been that way; her whole world was centred on Lilli now. And Gilly, the quiet girl from Los Angeles who lived alone like Emmeline and Lilli did; sometimes Gilly would come over to Emmeline's house for dinner, and they would sit and play with Lilli or do their homework. As little as Emmeline saw her—now, because Gilly had that beautiful boyfriend of hers, William—Gilly was probably the closest thing she had to a best-friend. It was an unspoken agreement that they had both seen things in their lives they wished to forget, for they both woke screaming in the middle of the night from nightmares. Except, when Emmeline had nightmares, the whole house shook and trembled.

Emmeline tripped down the street; the ground was gritted, but here and there fresh slabs of ice had been overlooked, and her Converse sneakers did nothing to stop her sliding about; she buttoned her coat with numb fingers, her enormous bag slung over her shoulder; inside it, she kept everything she could need for school and for Lilli; she had to go and pick her up from playgroup. She always had last-period off; her school guidance-counsellor and all her teachers knew about her situation at home, so they knew she had to be there to collect Lilli, and if Lilli was sick, Emmeline had to be home to take care of her so they sent work home for her to home-school if that was the case.

Today was just another normal day—as normal as the days had been since her parents' deaths. Emmeline was running on pure caffeine; she didn't sleep anymore. Her nightmares were too much to risk sleep, and last night had been particularly bad. She had woken at three o'clock, the entire house shuddering, Lilli crying and the electronics going haywire—she had fixed everything, turned off all the taps; her house suffered frequent flooding, and got Lilli back to sleep by singing their mother's lullaby, but even though it usually worked as well on Emmeline as it did on Lilli, Emme hadn't been able to fall asleep again.

She had seen them again. Seen the winged man with pale eyes full of ice, and the knife, and her parents, in the bedroom she never went into anymore. It was the same scene she saw every time she closed her eyes.

Snow crackled beneath her feet, and Emmeline glanced up; she was near to the club Gilly sometimes spoke of, where her friends went; it had once been called Club Destiny, was now known as The Asylum but undergoing a major remodel under new management, Gilly's friend Anya. She scanned over the façade of the building; it was being entirely rebuilt from the cellars up, and actually looked a nice piece of architecture rather than a new hovel-like entrance to an underground nightclub. She swept her eyes disinterestedly over the wide entrance into the building site, and her breath caught in her lungs.

The most beautiful man she had ever seen stood leaning casually against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. He had shoulder-length waves of pure white-blonde hair and contrasting black eyebrows hovering expressively over those too-green almond-shaped eyes. He had the prettiest lips she had ever seen, and he practically glowed with irreverence, leaning casually against the side of a building, watching people walk past with an indescribable expression on his face; he was savouring the bickering couple walking past, smiled and waved with a tiny, pretty smile, at several lovely little children walking past with their mother, flashed a beautiful, cheeky grin at another young woman on her own. Emmeline watched the woman's eyes widen and her jaw drop as she stumbled past, the conversation she was in the middle of on her phone forgotten. The man grinned, shaking his head amusedly, and glanced around the street; his expression grew shrewd, watchful; he had a handheld monitor in one hand, and Emmeline glimpsed a gun holster in the folds of his heavy, definitely designer wool coat. Emmeline crossed the street, paying no mind to the potential for road traffic, as this area strictly prohibited vehicles to protect the roads, and determined not to stare at the man as she walked past the club.

The ice on the ground had other ideas, and just as she was hurrying past the man, her Converses slid on a patch of ungritted ice, and she went flying with a yelp. Emmeline blinked; suddenly all she could see was frothy icy-grey clouds, and the tops of buildings… _Huh…How'd that happen?_ she wondered, as someone's rich, deep laugh filled the quiet wintry air, and instantly her cheeks flushed with humiliation. She should have prayed not to embarrass herself in front of this man, not get past him without staring. The laugh was soft but deep at the same time, rich, warm and slightly husky. And then someone was crouched beside her, dressed all in black, wearing the softest-looking black leather gloves and the expensive designer wool coat, offset by a pair of scuffed black boots.

"That hurt," Emmeline mumbled to herself, flushing hotly as she pulled herself up into a sitting position. The man, whoever he was, had the cheekiest smile she had ever seen; he was trying not to laugh, but his too-green eyes glittered so mirthfully she couldn't help smiling in response, despite the hot flush in her cheeks and the fact that she would definitely have a bruise on her bottom later.

"I'll bet that hurt," the man said sympathetically, though his eyes still glittered. He spoke English, but it was accented, and she couldn't tell where he was from. Much like her own, his accent was a combination of many different dialects. "I can't remember the last time I saw anyone wipe out quite that hard." She had to meet his eye then, considering he was speaking to her. She glanced up, and her insides completely evaporated in response to the look on his face. She forgot how to breathe. He was even more beautiful close-up, with fans of fine black eyelashes, and a sweet little nose. He was a young man, but somehow not; there was something in his eyes that betrayed an eternity of knowledge welled there. There was a mocking little kiss in the corner of those beautiful lips, and there were faint laugh-lines at the corners of his almond-shaped eyes. But it was his expression…he looked _hungry_, his eyes darting with so much intensity over her face that she blushed again.

"Here, let me help you up," the man said, and he offered his hands; his gloves _were_ of the softest leather; they felt like butter against Emmeline's frost-bitten fingers. She noticed he caressed his thumbs against the backs of her hands, and smiled to herself at the feel of it.

"Thank you," Emmeline mumbled, allowing the man to pull her gently off the floor, testing her footing. _Curse my Converses_, she thought, eyeing them. One of them had split down the side of the sole; she would have to buy new ones, which was a shame; she had become attached to these ones.

Standing, Emmeline glanced up and realised this man was only a few inches taller than her. At seventeen, she was six foot even, and Emmeline was the tallest woman she knew. She was known as the BFG at school; the Big Friendly Giant. But this man…he was four or five inches taller than her, which made her stomach all fluttery. He was very tall, with very broad shoulders, something she found extremely attractive in men…

"You look frozen," the man said, cocking his head to one side thoughtfully. He still had not let go of her hands. "I was just about to get a coffee. Do you want to join me?"

"Um…Thank you, but I… I have to pick my sister up from playgroup," Emmeline admitted, cursing Lilli—and a deep flush of shame spread through her for thinking that.

"That's a shame," the man said softly, his eyes still roving over her face. "Perhaps tomorrow? I could buy your sister a hot-chocolate if you wanted to bring her." Emmeline smiled despite herself; her cheeks hurt from the cold.

"Lilli's only eighteen months old," Emmeline said softly. He only smiled prettier, his eyes twinkling.

"Warm milk, then?" Emmeline was embarrassed by his interest, but pleased at the same time; unfortunately, her bashfulness and embarrassment overshadowed the great swell of _something_ that made her insides balloon and fill with the kind of warmth that even the frosty day couldn't diminish.

Slowly, he released her hands. "Well… I'll be here tomorrow, if you decide…" He trailed off, looking at something over her shoulder, and then Emmeline watched as his expression morphed into wide-eyed fear, frozen; he looked as if he had been petrified, his face very white, his too-green eyes flashing dangerously. A second later, pain exploded in Emmeline's right shoulder from behind. Stars twinkled in front of Emmeline's eyes as she sank slowly to the floor, a hand pressed over her shoulder; she retrieved it, shuddering, and as her vision slid in and out of focus, realised there was jam on her hand. The ice on the floor abraded her bare legs and seeped through her father's old coat and she shuddered from cold and pain as loud bangs echoed in the stillness of the street, and then voices started echoing in her mind; she heard the soft, husky voice of the blonde angel and felt herself being cradled in someone's strong, capable arms…but she couldn't stay here… She had to pick up Lilli from playgroup.

"Stay with me, okay," someone murmured hurriedly; the voice was soft and warm and husky; Emmeline made a conscious effort to open her eyes, and saw the halo of white-blonde hair above her, emerald-eyes glowing down; the mouth that had held so much mirth was now turned down at the corners.

"Lilli," she managed to rasp; the pain in her shoulder was more than she could bear; hot tears pricked at her eyes, and she took a deep breath, her body shuddering.

"What was that?" the man said softly, and she was aware of someone stroking her hair from her forehead with the utmost tenderness.

"_Lilli_," Emmeline whimpered. "I have to…get _Lilli_."

"Okay, okay," he said gently, calming her. "Where is she? Tell me where she is, I'll go and get her for you." Emmeline started to cry; she could feel the tears trickling hotly down her cheeks, tickling her temples. Someone was pressing hard against her shoulder. Lilli. She had to get Lilli. Nobody else would take care of her; she had to be there, had to take care of her.

"I have to…take care of her," Emmeline whimpered. "My fault…she'll be all alone…"

"No she won't, I promise," the warm voice said in little more than a whisper. "Tell me where she is, I'll protect her for you…" His voice echoed softly in her mind as sleep claimed her. For the first time in over a year, she slept without dreams.

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**A.N.**: Please review!


	2. Chapter 2

**A.N.**: I have a good feeling about this FanFic. I will have to put forth a warning that _this_ story is set after the events of my Darkest Delirium and Darkest Passion stories, so there will be several new characters you won't know; also, I have already read _Darkest Passion _by Gena Showalter, so I know things!

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**Darkest Fever**

Chapter Two

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Shit. _Shit_. Torin paced the construction zone that was The Asylum. His insides felt as if he had swallowed a Gorgon's head, full of writhing snakes, and he couldn't stop shaking. All he could think about was that poor girl. Màiri was working on her now—thank the gods that woman had a Masters in Medicine from practically every country on the planet. The girl was in Màiri's capable hands now, but Màiri had taken one look at the girl's injury and Torin had _known_… Màiri wasn't hopeful.

"Would you stop pacing? You're making me nervous," Kane sighed. He was sprawled on the floor, digging grenade shrapnel from his side with his fingers. Those fucking Hunters—aside from shooting a hole through a defenceless girl—had unleashed a grenade on the worksite, which would halt progress for a few more days while the others cleaned up the mess. Disregarding the interruption, Torin paced. That girl was under Màiri's medical care because of _him_. Because she'd gotten in the way of a bullet intended for _him_. He felt _sick_.

"D'you need to go vomit or something?" William asked, wrinkling his nose. He and Paris were working on the other side of the room—the soon-to-be VIP-room of Anya's newly-purchased nightclub. What a picture they looked in their low-slung jeans and leather tool-belts, a feast for Danika, who was designing murals for the walls with some sort of luminescent paint. "You look really pale, and I'm wearing my Prada boots today, so could you just, like, aim _away_ from me if you hurl?"

"Torin, she'll be fine," Paris said soothingly; for the first time in months, when Torin glanced at Paris, he actually looked _alive_. There was very little hint of the depression Paris had spun into after Sienna's death…he looked _startled_, perhaps by Torin's response to this situation.

Torin knew it was foolish to form any sort of lasting attachment to a mortal girl. But something about this one… A tiny crooked smile made its way to his lips as he thought of the first time he had seen her only minutes ago—her ankles flying into the air while her bottom smacked hard into the icy ground at his feet, letting out a yelp, and then, blinking with the utmost surprise, as if wondering what she was doing on the floor, completely bewildered…

She had smelled like…like a tropical island in the midst of a barren land of ice. Like spiced peaches mixed with sunshine and sun-baked sand, a bouquet of tropical flowers and a hint of a humid, salty breeze. She smelled like _sun_, like Hawaii or a Greek island or Heléne's island in the south Pacific. And it wasn't perfume, either; she did _wear_ perfume, but the scent was a soft, sultry peony scent, not the scents he got from her. Her skin was richly tan, as if she had spent most of her life in a rich tropical climate, always in the sun. And he guessed that the blonde, gold and coppery highlights in her hair had been from the sun also.

And she had spoken English. Not American-accented English or real _English_; he hadn't been able to determine her accent, as it was a mixture of different dialects. Definitely there had once been an American influence on her speech, but he had also detected the richly accented dialect of the Caribbean, and some form of South American Spanish dialect.

She hadn't cried or panicked when she had been shot. It had been a through-and-through shot, and Torin had watched her put her hand over the exit wound, as she sank to the ground and he shot the Hunters who had been aiming to kill him (Lucien and Aeron were now dealing with the bodies and spirits). She had looked at her blood-soaked palm and murmured, "I've got jam on my hand." And her tears for her sister…Torin had no clue how to find her; he had Dominic searching the internet for nearby playgroups at the fortress.

"What's that noise?" Kane frowned, as one of the spotlights sputtered above him; they all glanced at the light, and then at Kane, and he sighed miserably. If Heléne was with him, he was generally a lot more in control of Disaster, but as it was, Hel was with Ashlyn picking the kids up from school. Kane reached around the makeshift gurney the guys had made, on which the girl lay, Màiri working on her, and picked up the heavy bag the girl had been wearing strapped over her neck, handed it to Torin and sighed.

"I'll just go back home," he said. "Don't want to cause any _more_ destruction…" Torin set the bag down on a nearby worktable and rooted through it. It was filled with a jumble of things that none of the women save Màiri ever carried around with them; a stash of nappies, a bottle full of milk, juice boxes, little cartons of raisins, baby wipes, little pastel-coloured baby's bodysuits decorated with little ice-creams or other treats, school books, binders, a pencil case, a purse, a cell-phone.

'Memories' by Within Temptation (one of Torin's favourite bands) was playing as the girl's ringtone, and Torin flipped the phone the right way up and connected the call.

"Szia?"

"Hello?" Torin switched instantly to English when the woman at the other end of the line spoke in American-accented English. "Hello?"

"I'm sorry; I was calling for Emmeline Sully. I must have the wrong number," the woman said.

"No, no, no, no—I don't _think_ you do," Torin frowned. "What's this call regarding?"

"Emmeline is late to pick up her sister Lillian from playgroup," the woman said. "I wouldn't have called, but this is the first time it's happened. Has something happened to Emmeline?" _Emmeline, Emmeline, Emmeline_…

_Mm_. Something in the back of Torin's mind woke up sleepily, blinking its eyes owlishly, and settled down with a luxurious squirm, purring contentedly. _Emmeline_. It purred again.

"I… Emmeline was caught in crossfire between two rival gangs," Torin said, reciting the story they'd already made up for when the girl woke. He heard the woman gasp.

"Is she— was she—"

"She's still in surgery," Torin said, his heart in his throat, eyeing Màiri. _Please let her get through it… Please let her survive. That bullet was meant for _me_ not her_. "Is there anyone else who could pick Lillian up?"

"No," the woman said softly; Torin was touched by the woman's seemingly genuine concern. "Not that I know of. As far as I know, Emmeline's the only one…"

"I told her I'd take care of Lilli for her," Torin said, remembering his promise as Emmeline had clung to consciousness long enough to whimper her concern for her sister. "Do you have directions to your playgroup? I can come and collect Lilli."

"Oh, yes, of course," the woman said, and Torin wondered if she accepted so readily someone claiming to want to take care of her charges. He would get to that later; "I can keep Lilli here until you know how Emmeline fares, if you'd like. My evening staff would be more than happy to take care of Lilli; she's loved here."

"Would you? That would indeed be very helpful," Torin said quietly.

"May I ask who will be picking Lillian up?" the woman asked.

"Torin—" Torin winced; he had no real last name. Màiri referred to them all as their first name, and then dimOuniak, but that didn't work. Paris had registered Gilly at the American International School of Budapest under the name Paris Lord. "Torin Lord," he said. Torin took down directions to the playgroup on a sheet of Emmeline's binder paper and bid the woman goodbye. His nerves were on edge, he couldn't stop shivering and his heart was in his throat. He felt like he was going to throw up. _I'm not Disease for nothing_, he thought drily.

"Who was that?" Paris asked, frowning.

"The girl's…well, her sister goes to playgroup in town," Torin said. "The woman said she'd keep the child until Emmeline…"

"Emmeline?" William raised his eyebrows. Torin nodded to the girl lying in front of Màiri. Torin picked out the purse in Emmeline's bag and opened it. Inside were a few cards, the kinds of things he would have found in Gilly's purse before William had wed her and started giving her credit-cards like they were dollar lotto tickets. Loyalty discount cards for various stores, gift cards, a debit card, an insurance card and a school ID card.

"Hey… She goes to the American International School," Torin frowned, pulling out the card. It was laminated, with a photo ID of the girl; her azure eyes glowed within her tanned face, her beautiful lips quirked at the corners in a shy yet sultry smile that had hooked him in earlier when she had been embarrassed about falling on her bottom at his feet.

"What?" William quirked his eyebrows and lurched out of his seat to look over Torin's shoulder. Torin frowned and read the details on the card. _Emmeline Euphrasia Sully_, born 18 July, 1993. There followed an ID number, and on the back a return address to the school if the card was lost. _She's seventeen years old_, Torin thought, his stomach doing strange things again.

"Maybe Gilly knows her," William said quietly. "I'll call." He frowned at the ID card again, dialled Gilly's number swiftly and was chatting with her seconds later.

"Torin, brother, come and sit down," Paris said wearily; Torin glanced at his friend, who was taking a break and sipping some ambrosia-laced alcohol from a flask, wincing as he examined the shrapnel-wound in his side, and Torin's stomach slipped unpleasantly again. Torin groaned as he dropped onto the floor beside Paris and dropped Emmeline's bag into his lap. He was having one of those surreal, out-of-body experiences, where he was observing everything around him as if from above. He was more aware than usual that his heart was thundering in his chest, that his fingers were jittery and that he couldn't stop his leg from jigging. He glanced at Paris, who had been quiet and withdrawn for months.

"You don't have to be here for this," Torin said quietly. Everyone knew of Sienna now, it was no secret that Paris had lost the one woman he could love unrestrainedly to a Hunter's bullets. That he stayed, for Torin, knowing what had happened—that a woman had taken a bullet for him, showed just how much Paris loved his brothers. Torin only wished Paris's Sienna had made it this far, to a hospital—or at least into the care of an immortal who had thousands of years' worth of healing expertise under her belt. Sienna had apparently died in Paris's arms, with a curse on her lips. And Torin had to clench his jaw as his eyes burned—Paris did _not_ deserve that. Besides Amun, perhaps, Paris was the best of them, the best of the warriors; for centuries, he had forced them to live, but not just live, live _well_, through his sheer enthusiasm for and adoration of life and lust.

"Can't let it happen again," Paris said softly, so quiet his voice was hoarse. Torin frowned. "Not to you. Not now… Not before you've even known what the taste of her lips is like." Was he that transparent? Torin couldn't help laugh bashfully.

"I saw her only two minutes before she was shot, Paris," he said quietly. Paris sighed heavily, and fixed him with those once-lusty blue eyes. Anything to distract him from diving over to Màiri to ask if she needed any help; he had already been punched on the nose for annoying her.

"That's all it takes, though, isn't it," Paris said quietly, and his expression was comparable to Cameo's on a good day.

"You didn't have to stay here, Paris; you don't have to relive it," Torin said quietly, because he knew exactly what Paris was doing here. If he hadn't been able to save Sienna, maybe he could save Torin's girl, stop his friend from feeling the same way he did. Torin appreciated that—more than he could ever express—but he didn't want his friend hurting himself tonight if things didn't go the way they wanted.

"What kind of person would I be if I sat at home while my friend could very well end up like me?" Paris asked hollowly. Torin knew he wouldn't be dissuaded from this. Torin reached up and gripped his friend's shoulder. It was strange, after more than two millennia, to touch another person. He hadn't been able to stop himself stroking the backs of Emmeline's hands with his thumbs earlier. Just being able to hold her hand without fear she would soon die…

_And now she might die anyway_, Torin thought, hating himself. He had touched her, and she was now on a makeshift gurney, dying. The same as before…

"This isn't like before, Torin," Paris said quietly. "You can't hurt people like that anymore, remember." He flushed, wondering whether Paris had learned to read minds.

"I remember," Torin sighed heavily. It took a lot to remind him. After two millennia, not touching people was second-nature. He had to remind himself that he could cuddle Lucia when he was the only one near enough the nursery to get to her. He _could_ have sparring-matches with Jeremy in the backyard and he _could_ sit with everyone in the entertainment room or in Serafeim's best-room, without worrying about spreading a disease far and wide as had happened the week Ashlyn first arrived in the fortress.

"Gotta be weird for you," Paris frowned. "I just don't understand how you've held back."

"Held back? What do you mean?"

"For the first time in thousands of years, you can _touch_ people," Paris murmured. "And I've only ever seen you cuddling Lucia. How have you not gone into town and screwed any woman who'll have you? Don't say you don't yearn for sex."

"I wouldn't," Torin admitted. He wasn't Gideon; he refrained from lying. When he relied on his charisma and humour to make friends rather than physical closeness, he couldn't afford the luxury of lies. He had yearned for physical closeness for thousands of years, and now that he had it…he just wanted to savour it. Holding Lucia, Màiri's granddaughter, that tiny little baby, was one of the best feelings in the world. It made him yearn for a little baby of his own to cuddle, not borrow someone else's. He wanted what Maddox and Ashlyn had, wanted the family Strider and Màiri were raising.

"Promiscuity's telling me you want more than a taste of Emmeline," Paris said, indicating the double-doors through which Emmeline had disappeared. He said her name already with such familiarity, and Disease poked its nose up again at the sound of the name. If anything came of Emmeline, Torin knew instantly he would have an ally in Paris.

_Emme_, Disease thought, purring.

"She's seventeen," Torin mumbled to himself. _Seventeen_, he exhaled with a puff, _is _far_ too young_. Far too young for the expression in her sapphire-blue eyes. They were possibly prettier than Paris's eyes, and he was probably the most desirable being on the planet—besides Heléne, of course. Torin had been misguided in his guessed age for the girl because of her height; she had legs for miles, and was only four or five inches shorter than him, which made her about six feet tall. He had thought her in her mid-twenties, and the expression in her eyes had only strengthened that guess. But when she had spoken? She had a very quiet voice, and shy, and lovely and sweet. Not at all like Cameo or Serafeim, or any of the other girls, actually.

"You don't think _I'd_ believe that _that_ would stop you thinking about her, brother," Paris laughed softly. "Anyway, if you take into account that at over three thousand years old, you've never had sex—"

"Paris!"

"What? I was just going to say…you're probably more compatible than you think," Paris shrugged. "Look at William and Lydia."

"Yeah, well, they're William and Lydia, aren't they," Torin sighed, eyeing William meandering around the building, talking to Gilly. Torin and Gilly had gotten along much better than she had with other Lords, and Torin thought that the fact that he couldn't touch her was the reason behind it. Though it had never been said out loud, almost everyone had guessed that there had been something dark in Gilly's past.

"The point is, I know every single sordid detail of your fantasies about Emmeline," Paris smirked; the teasing glint had returned to his eyes for the first time in months. Torin's stomach ached; he had missed it. Besides Serafeim, only Paris had ever appreciated Torin's sense of humour.

"You do not!"

"I do—'cause you've had so few of 'em in past centuries… It's about time you started lusting after someone," Paris said matter-of-factly. "Promiscuity's getting excited just sitting next to you!" Torin flushed and squirmed. He _had_ been thinking about it. Women weren't his forte—people in general, really, as he had spent so many millennia isolated from everyone else—but when he had seen that beautiful, tall girl…he'd just wanted to pin her down on his bed and kiss her till she came from the sheer intensity of his kisses. And from Paris's conquests, he knew it was possible! And then he'd wanted to kiss and taste every inch of her sun-bronzed skin, take her slowly but deep and intense, then on her hands and knees, frantic and needy…

"See," Paris smirked. "You're thinking about it right now!" Torin hadn't heard his friend's laugh in months. Not his _old_ laugh, the one free of concealed pain. But there it was, fleetingly, teasing celibate Torin about sex.

"What's he thinking about?" William asked, striding back across the room to them.

"Hey! What'd Gilly say?"

"Well, the good news is, Gilly _does_ know Emmeline," William said. "For some reason, she called her the _BFG_, whatever that's about! The bad news is that Gilly will be plotting to murder you for letting her friend take a bullet for you."

"It wasn't like I grabbed onto her body and used her as a human shield!" Torin said indignantly. "I was talking to her; the Hunter _appeared_ and _shot her_."

"The douche had some _seriously_ bad aim then," Paris frowned.

"I think he thought he could get me _through_ her," Torin growled. And the Hunters said _they_ had no respect for human life! "So—Gilly knows her?"

"Yeah. If we thought _Gilly_ was quiet, apparently she's _Anya_ compared to Emmeline Sully," William said, his eyes wide, as if this couldn't _possibly_ be true. Yes, Gilly was quiet, but since she and William had gotten together, she'd acquired a vivacity that Torin wouldn't have believed if he hadn't seen it. So…Emmeline was _quiet_ compared to _Gilly_? "There was something…_tragic_ with her parents. Apparently she doesn't talk about it."

"Tragic. Tragic how?" Torin blurted, his heart in his mouth.

"Gilly doesn't know," William shrugged. "Like I said, apparently Emmeline doesn't talk about it."

Torin jumped to his feet when Màiri sighed and stared down at the girl.

"Màiri," he said quietly, his gut clenching. The ancient Lycan warrioress glanced around. His insides disappeared. "How is she?"

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**A.N.**: Please review!


	3. Chapter 3

**A.N.**: Hi, hi! More reviews, please!

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**Darkest Fever**

Chapter Three

* * *

"The girl is _fine_," Màiri said, smiling warmly. "But I admit I'm confused."

Torin let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding.

"Confused," Paris murmured. "About what?" Màiri dusted off her hands and glanced over her shoulder at the girl.

"How well do you know this girl?" Màiri asked, turning to Torin.

"Not at all, why?"

"Several things. Come and look," Màiri said, wiggling her finger at him; the men followed her back to the girl, who was unconscious; Torin's insides reappeared, twisting and turning with something made of molten lava, unfurling rapturously at the sight of her.

"What's wrong?" Torin asked, gulping down the lump stuck in his throat. Màiri walked over to the girl. Emmeline lay on the makeshift gurney in only a pair of tattered, now-broken Converse sneakers, a pair of ultra-comfortable boyfriend-fit jeans and a man's silk shirt, striped in different shades of pink, with large cuffs and collar, the throat open and exposing a string of the most beautiful pearls Torin had ever seen; their glow was ethereal, more like the moon than anything; the right shoulder was seeped in blood and lacerated from the bullet exit; Torin noted that Màiri had placed the shirt back in place after operating on the girl to preserve her modesty, but despite the mannish outfit, which seemed to Torin to want to ward off attention from the wearer, he noted that there were no faint lines from a bra under her shirt.

The thought that the girl _wasn't_ _wearing_ _one_ made his dick harden instantly. It was a surprisingly sensual thought, when tempered with her fashion sense; baggy jeans, tattered Converse sneakers, a man's shirt and coat…he wondered if they didn't belong to her father, or a boyfriend. The thought made his fingernails curl into claws before Màiri bumped her hip gently against his, giving him one of her patented looks.

"She is _beautiful_," Paris said, letting his breath out in a soft _whoosh_ as he looked down at the unconscious girl. Heartbreaking admiration caressed his voice, and Torin couldn't resist reaching over to tenderly stroke a wispy lock of almost-blonde hair from Emmeline's forehead. She was without a doubt the most beautiful girl Torin had ever seen, and it startled him that she was only seventeen. She didn't look like she belonged on earth, let alone a gurney. Yes, he thought, the clothes were to ward off unwanted attention. Without knowing her, Torin already knew that her beauty was a problem for this girl.

He had thought her older, in her mid-twenties. But, now that her eyes were closed…he saw that she was, indeed, a _young_ girl. In sleep, she was absolutely lovely. She had the prettiest little nose, and beautifully moulded lips. Her eyebrows were dark and a little out of control, but strangely they added to Emmeline's allure; her eyelashes were short but thick, and curly.

"Wake up," Torin whispered. Only a few moments ago, he had seen how stunning her wide, almond-shaped sapphire-blue eyes were, how they held so much knowledge and emotion. He had seen how her skin—tan like the sun-god—had warmed with a beautiful dark pink when she was embarrassed, and the memory made Torin's cock twitch. He had liked that blush, the way her eyes flickered shyly up at him, how she had almost unnoticeable freckles powdered over the bridge of her dainty nose and the far reaches of her sculpted cheekbones.

"She can't be human," Paris murmured, frowning down at the girl with a mixture of quiet adoration and bemusement. Torin frowned.

"Why do you say that?"

"She doesn't…_feel_ human. With Anya, and Belle, and especially Minka and Maia, I can _feel_ they're…they're _more_," Paris frowned. Minka and Maia, Aeron and Serafeim's four-year-old adopted half-Fury daughters, were indeed almost visibly nonhuman, even when they was in human form. Too beautiful for children. "Immortals always have heightened senses, heightened responses, _especially_ to Promiscuity. I can _feel_ this girl isn't quite…human."

"Well, I don't care what she is," Torin said honestly, _just as long as she wakes up_, he added piteously. He felt like crying. Paris reached across the gurney and gripped Torin's shoulder, a strange expression on his face. He nodded to himself, and dropped his hand. Torin turned back to gaze down at Emmeline.

With her eyes closed, Emmeline looked very young, exquisitely innocent; something in Torin ached to wake up to that face every morning, to go to sleep beside her every night. Just as long as he could kiss those lips each time he saw them…

Something within him gave a whimper; he knew it was Disease, sniffing its nose in the air again, for the first time in Torin's memory. Something about this girl had brought out an interest in his demon, who was otherwise just a contamination of his blood, made the demon sit up and take notice. Even Paris, who now set Aeron at the very limits of his patience when he took the broken warrior into Buda for a bed-mate for the night, had noticed, and he had been picky about every woman he'd bedded since he had returned after Sienna's death in Athens.

"What's wrong?" Torin asked, not liking Màiri's expression.

"Well, to start, she's not human," Màiri said softly. "Paris guessed correctly."

"How do you know?" Torin frowned, and Paris quirked his eyebrows in surprise.

"Besides the mark on her wrist?" Màiri said, quirking her eyebrows. She motioned to the bandaged wound. "Her wound started knitting itself together again before I'd even taken stitches to it."

"What do you mean, she—She healed herself?" Torin blurted, as Paris went to the girl's left wrist, around which was clasped a hinged antique-looking bracelet of gold, the most exquisite diamonds and glowing pearls. Two plain gold bands decorated her forefingers, and on her right hand a little gold ring decorated with two plumeria blossoms adorned her middle-finger. Paris moved the bracelet aside carefully, and Torin heard his sharp intake of breath. Torin glanced from Emmeline's face to her slender, ballerina's wrist, and saw Paris holding her hand tenderly; there, etched so faintly it would be overlooked by human eyes, was a white symbol of infinity.

"She's a Halfling?" Torin gulped.

"Yes," Màiri frowned. "But I have no memory of her from that school in Chicago, and while she's unconscious I have no idea what she _is_. Perhaps you and Dominic will be able to glean some information about her from the Hunter database we brought back from Chicago."

"Well… She doesn't look like she's going to be waking any time soon…" Paris said quietly, casting a glance at Torin.

"We'd best get her to the fortress," Màiri said, her voice thickening with her accent, as it did any time she felt some strong surge of emotion. "If she is no' human, a hospital will do her no good." Torin sighed heavily, tucked another wispy lock of Emmeline's sun-lightened hair away from her face and licked his lips.

"Torin and I are going to collect Emmeline's sister," Paris said quietly, as Torin stroked a finger across Emmeline's cheekbone. Her skin was beautifully warm, despite her pallor. He bet if he crawled into bed beside her and cuddled up, she would be snug and toasty as an electric-blanket. Disease mewled happily like a newborn kitten at the idea.

"Torin!"

"Mm?"

"Come on, man," Paris chortled softly, indicating the door. Torin's stomach clenched. He didn't really _want_ to leave her…but Màiri was already on her phone to Lucien, asking him to phase to the dismantled club.

"Come on, she'll be fine with Màiri looking after her," Paris said quietly, guiding Torin to one of their Range Rovers. Paris thoughtfully commandeered a child's car-seat from the boot of Màiri's car, securing it into the backseat.

* * *

The playgroup was only a few streets away from The Asylum—or _Elysium_, as Anya had redubbed it once the ownership papers had passed into her hands, and the task of refurbishing it into the Lords' hands—and surprisingly aesthetic. A small courtyard out front held several pieces of play apparatus, a swing and slide and a little merry-go-round, and several flowerbeds prettily decorated with snowdrops. The building was short, only several storeys high, with the lower windows glowing amber already, as the sun had set at four o'clock. A woman at the reception desk smiled slightly dazedly at the sight of Paris and Torin, and was hasty to retrieve the carer in charge of watching Lillian Sully.

"I _really_ must protest," said the woman—a middle-aged, kindly-looking woman, but one with an eagle's glint in her eyes—as she ushered a flaxen-haired little girl into the reception area. "This is _not_ usual procedure. We do not sign out our children to _strangers_ claiming they're related."

"We claim no such relation," Torin said quietly. "I made a promise to Lilli's sister that I will take care of Lillian."

"Emmeline was unfortunately injured earlier this afternoon on the way to collect Lillian," Paris said, his expression appropriately concerned and smouldering at the same time, and Torin could tell that the women around them were fighting not to claw each others' eyes out to get to him first, though he saw the lines of strain at the corners of Paris's lush lips and his startling sapphire eyes. "Her only thoughts when she was hurt were her sister; my brother and I promised to take care of Lilli until Emmeline was able."

"You don't look much like brothers," the woman said shrewdly, but there was a slightly breathless lilt to her voice as she eyed Paris and Torin greedily. No, they didn't _look_ like brothers; Torin had white-blonde hair and wickedly mischievous green eyes, and Paris had multihued hair and sultry blue eyes—but they had been together for centuries, knew each other like the backs of their hands. To everyone concerned, they _were_ brothers.

Torin watched the little girl meandering around the woman's feet. She was a gorgeous little scrap, with the same enormous wide almond-shaped eyes as Emmeline's, the same hue of brilliant azure-blue; her hair was a fine spun-silver blonde, and she had the daintiest little nose and already plump lips. She had the rings around her wrists where her arms were chubby, and her cheeks were rounded and flushed. She was an absolute darling. Torin wondered if Olivier—the _angel_—could even hold a candle to this child's cherubic beauty.

While Paris sorted out the reluctant women, Torin went down into a crouch and smiled softly at the little girl. "Hello, Lilli," he said softly, holding out his hand. "Come say 'Hi' to Uncle Tory?"

The little cherub beamed at him, giving off a pretty, squealing gurgle, eyes lighting up with delight, and staggered forward, placing her tiny little hand inside his huge palm. Enormous sapphire eyes glittered up at him, the plump little mouth turning up at the corners, lips exposing pretty white milk teeth. She couldn't be more than eighteen months old, and so lovely. One wrist was bound with a delicate expanding gold bracelet, the kind Màiri had given her little daughters, but this one was etched with tiny ancient Greek symbols. Such pieces of jewellery were not available on the market, Torin knew, especially not with the engravings. This was a piece of jewellery from Olympia.

"Where did you get this, little one?" Torin asked, smiling at her; Lilli gave another gurgling laugh and beamed at him, holding out her arms. She looked like she wanted to be carried, so Torin hoisted her into his arms. She wound her cubby arms around his neck, clinging to the fabric of his coat, and watched his face with a delighted expression, her eyes twinkling. She yawned, and wriggled in his arms until she had found a comfortable position, her head resting against his chest, forehead touching his neck, her pudgy little fingers clutching the lapel of his coat as she would a blanket. He cradled her in his arms, smiling softly, watching Paris flirt tiredly with the women he now had wrapped around his little finger.

"Well, thank you; I don't expect we'll bring Lilli back tomorrow; we have a nanny who takes care of our nieces and nephews," Paris said, catching sight of Torin humming gently to Lilli, cradling her in his arms as she sighed and yawned against him. It was a lie—they had no au pair, but Màiri and Serafeim were fulltime mothers. The older woman handed Torin Lilli's little coat, but Torin merely draped it over the little girl before leaving the building with Paris. He buckled the now-sleeping child into the car-seat and climbed into the front passenger seat with Paris.

* * *

Paris drove them back to the fortress in silence; Torin couldn't help glancing at the once life-lusty warrior prince. He missed his friend, the one who used to watch movies with him at any hour of the night, who would devote hours to Torin's entertainment when he had the brink of suicidal depression, wondering how he could take his own head or get one of his friends to do it for him, so lonely and upset…

The fortress came into view, a deep shadow against the star-struck winter sky, the moon heavy and full; Jack and Belle would be locked up in their room tonight! _Only sixteen years old, they already have their life-mates…_ Torin sighed and glanced back at Lilli, who was sleeping, curled under his coat for warmth.

"Do you think we should try and contact their parents?" Torin asked, but even doing so he recalled what William had said, that there was something 'tragic' about Emmeline's parents.

"We can try," Paris shrugged. He was obviously distracted. "Dominic will be able to find something."

"Shit! Yeah, that kid can find anything," Torin smirked. His little techno protégé, Dominic, hadn't known a thing about computers before he had been sat down in Torin's room under surveillance (and gunpoint) when Olivier had retrieved him from the Hunters' base off the motorway. Now the kid barely slept, lived off caffeine and had started cracking sarcastic jokes left, right and centre, a complete contrast to the boy Strider had shot out in—wherever the hell the Unspoken Ones had sent them to parley with Hunters. The Lords called Dominic Torin's little 'mini-me'.

Inside the iron-gate around the fortress, Torin and Paris both let out small sighs of relief. They were safe under Dominic's surveillance; he and Torin now took turns sharing responsibility for the security of the warriors and their home (a position Dominic had taken up with zeal since his disillusionment from the Hunter doctrine and having evidenced that the warriors were real, well, _people_, that they loved and lost the same as humans, that they had families and friends). Several windows of the fortress glowed a rich, bright amber, and Torin was careful not to wake the child as he collected Lilli from her car-seat in the back; Paris led the way to the fortress, barely casting a glance back at the car as he locked it with a flick of the keys over his shoulder.

The warmth of the foyer hit him like a brick wall as Torin walked in, Lilli cradled in his arms. Paris waved goodbye lazily and made his way upstairs, to his room, and Torin poked his head inside several of the rooms on the first floor, noting that almost everybody was at home. The adults were chatting or playing a monumental game of chess in Serafeim's best room; William, Anya, Gideon and Scarlet in the entertainment room watching _Twilight_ for the thousandth time as a pre-dinner drinking-game; Amun was in his library; Lucien was doing paperwork at the enormous antique desk in the grand study that now housed several more work-desks; the teenagers were being fed in the glorious-smelling kitchen by Màiri, while Serafeim cradled little motherless Lucia over her swollen stomach with a bottle. Aeron was sitting with Minka in the big armchair in the schoolroom, reading a fairytale to her, while Nathaniel spewed assassination ideas for the inventor of Calculus, aided by Legion; Cameo and Olivier were in the music-room and Danika was in her art studio, working on a new painting that seemed to be submerged in tropical colours (she would have thrown a pot of bright-yellow paint at Torin for sneaking a look at her unfinished painting if he hadn't been holding Lilli) and Torin finally made it to the nursery.

Serafeim, Danika and Màiri had made a good job of creating one of the prettiest areas a child could grow up in, with furniture even an immortal would have trouble pulverising and enormous murals covering every spare inch of the walls. Little beds and several cots were set out, a carved cradle for Lucia, and a spare cot had been set out; Torin smiled, slipped off Lilli's little shoes, and set her down in the new cot, draping a soft hand-knitted cream blanket over her. He turned on the little nightlight, aware that it was already pitch-black outside, turned on the baby monitor that had receptors all over the fortress, and went in search of Màiri, who had disappeared from the kitchen.

Together with Màiri, an unbeatable foe (as Strider had found out, to everyone's amusement and shock), Serafeim had managed to redecorate almost every room in the fortress. It helped that Màiri's Tristan could easily hold up half the building if a wall started crumbling (as he had been forced to do on several occasions) and Danika's talent with a paintbrush had given every room its own unique feel. The upstairs rooms were devoted to bedrooms, dressing-rooms, smaller private studies, the security room in which Dominic was probably working diligently, the gym, sauna, a room Anya had styled as a 'girls-only _spa_,' and guest bedrooms—not that the Lords entertained many guests (excluding those in the dungeon…)

In one of the nearest guest bedrooms, the dusty pink one with trailing white carved plaster cabbage-roses up the walls and glowing maple furniture, several pretty antiques and a beautiful little pianoforte, Torin found Màiri.

"Hey," he said softly. "How's the patient?"

"Still unconscious," Màiri sighed softly. "I had expected her to be awake by now." Torin noticed the tray of food set on the pretty woman's writing desk under the window and glanced at the king-sized bed, where a slumbering Emmeline Sully lay, tucked under the pale-gold silk duvet cover embroidered with sprays of tiny pink-and-gold flowers and soft broderie anglaise-trimmed white cotton sheets. Torin walked over apprehensively.

"Is there any reason why she might still be unconscious?" Torin asked.

"Sometimes…it's not uncommon for humans who've suffered trauma to…to not _want_ to wake up," Màiri frowned. "Some unresolved issues, perhaps, I don't know. It varies from person to person…"

"Is she in pain?" Torin asked breathlessly. Màiri frowned down at the girl.

"Difficult to say while she's unconscious. The only way to know is for her to tell us," Màiri said. "And I wouldn't say her expression is pained… It's more… Petrified anguish than pain…" Torin watched the girl's face. Yes…the look on her face, it was like…like seeing Maddox when Ashlyn had taken those fatal stabbings for him. Sheer desolation. Unlike earlier, when her sleep had been due to blood loss and pain, Emmeline Sully's sleep now was no longer absolute.

"What's making her eyes do that?" Torin asked quietly, watching; Emmeline's eyes flickered restlessly beneath their lids.

"Restless-eye movement," Màiri said quietly. "It's like she's living particularly vivid dreams."

"What if they're nightmares?" Torin swallowed, with difficulty. Scarlet had the ability to make things a person had nightmares about come to life. And if Emmeline was injured further in her nightmares, those injuries would appear very much real on her body. They had all fallen prey to Scarlet's unintentional use of her demon; she was now controlling it far better, with Gideon. "What if Scarlet gets to her, what if—" Màiri broke him off with a soft chortle.

"I've already spoken to Scarlet; she'll try her best not to infiltrate Emmeline's dreams," Màiri said comfortingly. "How did it go at the playgroup?"

"Surprisingly well; Paris charmed the women into letting us take the girl," Torin said. "She's a beautiful child."

"Where is she now?" Màiri asked.

"In the nursery; she fell asleep on the ride here," Torin said quietly. "I was thinking—should we try and contact their parents? It's strange they haven't made contact with their daughter to see where she is."

"I was thinking the same thing; Dominic's tracking them down now," Màiri said, sighing heavily. "It makes our work a lot easier, her having the mark on her wrist."

"Do Jack or Belle or Nathaniel recognise her from Hunter High?" Torin asked.

"No," Màiri sighed. "Gilly knows her from the American International School. According to her, she's a very quiet, self-contained girl. She leaves early from school every day to collect her sister from playgroup…She's polite to the teachers, sweet to everyone, never says a bad thing about anybody…"

"In other words, too uninteresting to really pay that much attention to," Torin frowned, suddenly on edge. How could anyone overlook such a beautiful girl?

"No; she gets attention alright, Nathaniel says; half the school is in love with her," Màiri smirked, and the smirk turned into a gentle, saddened smile as she looked down at the sleeping girl. "She is just too shy either to see or believe it. Look at her; look at those legs."

"I've been trying not to," Torin said curtly, that rapturous feeling unfolding in his stomach at the thought of the girl's long legs, and how they would feel clamped around his waist…

"So I've heard," Màiri smiled. "Where is Paris?"

"Probably in his room," Torin frowned.

"Guys!" Torin and Màiri both glanced over their shoulders at the door as Dominic, followed by a wide-eyed Paris, came hurtling into the room, his arms laden down with papers. His expression was stark, shocked. He looked like he might have been ill, and Paris definitely looked worse for wear.

"What's happened?"

* * *

**A.N.**: I think I've ended every chapter of this fic so far with a cliff-hanger. Why stop now? Please review!


	4. Chapter 4

**A.N.**: Mwahahaha! I was very naughty for leaving a cliff-hanger, thank you, _nicolethecrazyone_! Alrighty…The next instalment. Um… I think I added the note about Helene? The Lord of Desire? Kane's wife? _The_ Helen of Troy? Oh. Guess not. Oh, wait, no, I just checked; the note is in _next_ chapter's A.N.! Anywho…Yeah… Please review!

* * *

**Darkest Fever**

Chapter Four

* * *

"You're not going to like this," Dominic panted, sinking into the desk chair, his hands shaking as he set down several folders full of papers. "You're not going to like this at all. I…I found her—well, I found out so much about Emmeline Sully's family I feel I know her already…I… It's difficult to know where to begin, she…"

"Take a deep breath, Dominic," Màiri frowned, and the boy obeyed. "Now, what do you have for us?"

"Well, based on you finding the Halfling symbol on the girl's wrist, I searched the Hunter database for an Emmeline Sully," Dominic said, sifting through several folders of paperwork. "I didn't find an Emmeline _Sully_, but I did find an Emmeline who fits _her_ description."

"What does it say about her?"

"Born 18 July, 1993," Paris said, reading off a sheet of paper. "In the Hunter maternity facility in Siberia that Serafeim and I destroyed last winter. The Hunter in charge of her mother was a Dr James Sully. The 'incubator,' the mother, was known only as Euphrasia; she has no last name, as is common with immortals, but Emmeline was given her name as her middle-name, as was seemingly the custom with the children born under the Hunter scheme, as a way to keep track of whose mother the child had."

"Anything else? Does it say what she _is_?" Màiri asked. "Anything that can help us speed her cure, wake her up?"

"Nothing; there's nothing; the doctor in charge of her care was a scientist called James Sully—this is where it gets interesting," Dominic said, frowning. "Apparently, Euphrasia was captured in the south Pacific nearly eighteen years ago; the island was completely deserted, and no one could find it again when Dr Sully went to track the other woman who lived there, _but_ Euphrasia was _already_ pregnant with a child—her child, Emmeline… Here's where it gets really good, though…" Torin glanced at Màiri, impatience firing through his veins as Dominic and Paris shuffled through some papers and found the file they were looking for. "About ten years ago, Dr Sully, Euphrasia and Emmeline all disappeared, completely! They vanished, like, _out_ _of thin air_."

"How's that possible?" Torin frowned. The only people Torin knew could disappear and reappear at will were Lucien, Màiri's children, Belle, Dominic and Violet the resident vampires, and Nathaniel and Noah, who were necromancers and brothers, and there was no evidence of Emmeline being a vampire _or_ a necromancer, or a 'vycan', as Tristan had dubbed his much younger siblings, who were both Lycan and vampire.

"Well, the scientists in charge of researching Euphrasia only ever gleaned that she was an immortal, but as she showed no signs such as a valkyrie or a witch would give off, as they usually fought against capture, Euphrasia went _with_ her captor—this Dr Sully guy—and never gave anyone a hint of what she was capable of. This Sully guy noted that the woman was heartbroken; she said her lover had abandoned her on the island after a few months with her… One day, she, the scientist and the girl, Emmeline, all disappeared at the same exact moment."

"Okay… So what happened after that?" Torin asked urgently.

"Well, they pretty much fell off the face of the planet," Dominic said, but there was a glow in his face that Torin knew meant he had found something. Torin himself had taught Dominic that look. "_But_ there were records of a Dr Sully purchasing a rowboat and supplies in the _Amazon_ shortly after his disappearance from Chicago. That was the last purchase used on his old credit-card before he disappeared again, until his name crops up as the resident island doctor in one of the Caribbean islands, then again in Hawaii."

"So this woman… The woman, Euphrasia, somehow managed to help herself, her child and her—lover, I suppose? Were she and Sully lovers?—escape from the Hunters in Chicago, then they started island-hopping?" Torin frowned. "How did Emmeline and Lilli end up here?"

"Well, that's the good part. About two years ago, Sully started using his old bank-account again," Dominic said. "He bought three airplane tickets from Hawaii to Budapest, and he took a job at the hospital as chief of medicine. That's…that's where it goes downhill."

"Downhill, how?" Torin frowned; Dominic shared a glance with Paris, who had gone very white.

"Um…Paris mention William told you Emmeline had something…_tragic_ happen to her parents?" Dominic asked, and his face lost its colour, his eyes widening. He looked like he might throw up. Torin nodded.

"Yes," Torin said. "Apparently, Gilly knows something awful happened, but Emmeline has never spoken of it."

"I wouldn't either," Dominic said. He glanced at the girl lying on the bed, gestured to them, gathered his things and made a beeline for the nearest available study. He and Paris set out the papers Dominic had found. "I found out that…almost a year ago, the homicide response team was called to the Sully house…"

Torin stared, and his stomach flipped over and he fought not to retch; Màiri put a hand over her mouth, her eyes widening, as Dominic spread several glossy, full-colour, high-definition photographs on the polished, leather-topped desk. Torin felt as if he had been plunged into an ice bath, on top of suffering from the flu. What he saw in those photographs…he would never be able to forget. He had seen a lot of horrific things in his thousands of years, but he had never seen…

"There's so much _blood_," Màiri whispered, and for the ancient warrioress to say that meant she had never seen the like either. As a young slave under the rule of vampire masters, she had seen things she had never shared with another single person, until Strider, and for her to gasp and go wide-eyed over evidence photos of a homicide crime-scene said a lot.

Dr James Sully, who had been a handsome golden-haired man with laughter lines and a deep tan, had been butchered beyond recognition.

The woman, Euphrasia, had appeared to be in her late-twenties at oldest, and she, too, had been tortured and mangled beyond identification. The room in which they had been found—the police report said, by their teenage daughter, Emmeline, who had seen the attacker—their bedroom, was coated with blood. The two people had been near decapitated; only millimetres of sinew and tissue kept the heads attached to the mangled bodies.

"And get this," Paris said softly, his voice hoarse; he lifted another piece of paper from a printed folder of the police report Dominic had managed to hack from the Budapest police files. "The statement of Emmeline Euphrasia Sully… She describes her parents' killer as a very tall young man in his late-twenties, possibly early-thirties, very handsome, with blonde hair and sky-blue eyes, dressed all in white. Sound familiar?"

"My god!" Torin gasped, horror drenching his insides. He felt _sick_. "_Galen_."

"The date, Torin—it's the same week Hunters attacked the fortress trying to get Danika. Galen killed Emmeline's parents _that same week_ _he attacked us_," Paris said, his voice agonised.

_Fuck_.

"_Why_?" Torin asked, the sound wrenched from his chest, his heart aching painfully.

"The Buda homicide unit had no leads; it's a cold case to them, but I'd bet anything Galen didn't appreciate one of his dedicated scientist suppliants running off to play house with one of his incubators and her child," Paris said softly. "He must have heard Sully and Euphrasia were here in Buda when he was gathering reconnaissance for his attack on the fortress and decided to exact some revenge for Sully's betrayal, Lord of the Underworld style."

"Shit," Torin said softly, massaging his chest over his heart where it ached.

"That's what I said," Dominic said, averting his gaze from the photographs he was hastily piling into a manila folder. "I mean, I saw some things when I was…you know, but I never… I _never_ saw anything like that."

"Torin…" Paris gasped softly, catching Torin's arm; he eyed his hand, then remembered he could touch people now, and looked up at Paris. "Emmeline's parents were killed almost a year ago… You were with Lilli, but I was talking to those women at the nursery; they say Emmeline's only ever come to collect Lilli; she's the only one who answers the phone when they call her at home… She's been living _alone_ all this time."

"How do you know?" Torin asked, to put off thinking the inevitable, that that _was_ the case. How could a seventeen-year-old care for an infant sister _alone_?

"Well, there's only one way to find out," Dominic said gravely, and he pulled out another piece of paper. "I found Emmeline Sully's home address. I'm sure her keys are in her bag."

"We could…" Torin glanced at Paris, who nodded.

"We'll go take a look around," Paris said quietly. "Besides, I guess we'll be needing clothes for Lilli. She's too big to borrow Christmas or Calliope's things."

"You'll go after dinner," Màiri declared, and the men all opened their mouths to protest, a futile gesture, really; "Dinner first," Màiri said dangerously, overriding their complaints and protests and pleas. "You'll be no help to that girl if you're running on empty tanks. I know how grouchy you get when you're unfed. You're worse than Lucia. Come along—and, Dominic, hide those files. I don't want that girl finding them."

"Will do," Dominic said. "I can burn them, if you like." Dominic scuttled off quickly, eager for his dinner. Torin followed Paris downstairs blindly, churning things over in his mind. Those photographs…and Emmeline had been the one to stumble upon the scene, to witness her parents' savage murder…

_REM_, he thought; _Restless eye movement. _What had Màiri said—that sometimes people didn't want to wake up after trauma? That the girl might be having particularly vivid dreams? Torin hoped to the gods the girl wasn't trapped inside her own memory, reliving that scene over and over again…

* * *

Okay, so Torin was a little glad he and Paris had stuck around for dinner; as usual, Màiri served it up in the dining-room, everyone present—the only exception being unconscious Emmeline. They had gone through several bottles of wine and copious amounts of beer, and Màiri had outdone herself with another hot meal, this one of _Hortobágyi palacsinta_,veal pancakes cooked in a paprika sauce. Torin's mouth was still on fire from the spice Màiri liked to add to her food, and he had eaten four _Gundel Palacsinta_ pancakes Màiri had flambéed with chocolate sauce for dessert.

"That woman makes some _good_ food," Torin sighed, resting in the passenger seat; Paris smiled.

"Yeah; we finally get some decent cooking around here," Paris agreed. "Only took two thousand years." Torin laughed softly, grinning; yeah, it had only taken two thousand years to realise what they were missing, thinking they were okay on their own. "So where are we headed?" Paris pulled out of the iron gate, and they were both instantly on guard, watching everything through the tinted windows of Anya's Bentley. Torin unfolded the paper Dominic had given him with Emmeline Sully's home-address on and plugged the postcode into the Sat-Nav. Technology made everything so much simpler.

They cruised to the outskirts of Buda, to the residential suburbs; it was quite a trek on foot to the American International School, Torin knew that much, and he wondered whether Emmeline made the walk alone from home to playgroup to school and back, every day. The neighbourhood was beautiful and quiet, well-tended, with small, multihued palaces; the Sully house was a small castle of granite-coloured rock, with neatly-painted trims and a wide driveway hedged by flowerbeds filled with evergreens and late-winter flowers, delicate snowdrops and bright splashes of colour in the form of crocuses and a few early daffodils, and on the neat brick driveway was a gorgeous red Lexus IS convertible, a specially-outfitted silver soft-top Jeep _Wrangler Rubicon_ that looked like it had seen the wild of the Amazon and a brand-new Bentley.

"Oooh, the new Mulsanne," Paris breathed, tracing the contours of the pale-gold Bentley as he would the curves of a beautiful woman.

"Better keep Anya out of the loop on this—look, they have the Lara Croft Jeep!" Torin said, pointing out the silver soft-top. "That's taken some beatings!"

"What kind of scientist was this James Sully guy?" Paris frowned, looking over the Jeep.

"I don't know, but I'm guessing he wasn't spending all his time looking down a microscope," Torin frowned. "I'll bet these cars haven't been touched for a year."

"Such a waste," Paris said softly, pouting longingly at the Bentley.

"Come on, let's go inside," Torin said softly, taking the set of keys out of his pocket. There were several key-chains, one of them a highly detailed water-lily carved from glowing wood, another a half-shell glazed with mother-of-pearl inside, decorated with little tropical shells and a large pearl—all of which were real, Torin realised. A third keychain was obviously Hawaiian, a gaudy plastic thing decorated with plumeria and _Emeline_ written in dark writing. Her 'Hawaiian' name. He tried several keys before managing to unlock the front door. The inside of the house was pleasantly warm, and the soft whir of the heating unit greeted them.

It was strange; Torin felt like a burglar, sneaking into the house. He hadn't had to do firsthand reconnaissance in thousands of years, so his stealth skills were a little rusty. And he didn't like that he was impeding on Emmeline's privacy.

_Emme_, Disease sighed.

The floors were of flagstone so old they were probably soft and flawless to touch; the ceilings were high, vaulted, and everything was trimmed with white; soft gold wallpaper glowed warmly when Paris flipped the hallway light on. A large staircase curved from the right side of the hallway up to a mezzanine gallery, below which an archway led down into a sitting room filled with soft plush leather furniture and big comfortable armchairs. As he and Paris looked through the downstairs of the house, Torin noticed it was filled with priceless antiques and the most sumptuous pieces of artwork he had ever seen; bronze busts and art glass decorated the rooms, and multitudes of photographs depicted the family—golden-haired, handsome Dr Sully, stunningly beautiful Euphrasia, Emmeline as she grew from a young child into an adolescent, and then Lilli. It was very evident that the people in those photographs loved each other, adored each other with their whole hearts. Torin couldn't imagine how Emmeline felt looking at those photographs, knowing she would never see those people who loved her so completely ever again.

"It doesn't _feel_ right," Paris said, wrinkling his nose.

"What doesn't?" _Sneaking into Emmeline's house while she's comatose_?

"This room," Paris frowned, gesturing around the living-room. "It doesn't feel…_lived-in_." Torin felt it too; whilst it was evident someone obviously cared for the room, dusting the photograph frames and vacuuming the exquisite hand-woven cherry-red and crimson Mongolian carpet of silk and wool with gold and silver threads; stags bounded about the design, and Torin didn't think he'd ever seen anything of such exquisite workmanship. The entire house dripped of luxury—of a bygone era of opulence that no scientist could afford—Dominic had tracked down the good doctor's financial records, and he couldn't have afforded even _one_ of the antique vases in the vestibule. The house was cared for, yes, but Paris was right, the only room that really felt lived-in was the kitchen, with its still-warm Aga stove and the rocking chair in the corner with blankets and hand-embroidered cushions, the school textbooks laid out on the table with freshly-washed dishes and baby bottles on the draining board, the hand-written recipe-book open to a Brazilian dish.

"There's something…_familiar_ about this woman," Torin said, frowning at the photographs lining the stairwell as he and Paris strode upstairs. He knew the face—because the woman's lips were so like Emmeline's—but also because he knew he had seen it before. "I don't know why, but I feel like I've seen her before."

"Yes," Paris said softly, peering at one of the photographs of Dr Sully and Euphrasia, in a white dress, against a stunning tropical sunset. "Maybe Dominic will be able to find out who she is."

"Hopefully," Torin frowned, leading the way upstairs. "Oh, this is better." The atmosphere upstairs was different; warmer: He searched the rooms and found two bedrooms connected by a bathroom; one was a nursery, the walls painted with murals of…of gods and angels in gilt clouds overlooking beautiful beaches filled with mermaids and nymphs. The other was a teenager's bedroom, and obviously very-much lived-in. There were film posters on the walls, shelves stacked with books, DVDs and boxes filled with trinkets. A length of multicoloured Christmas lights was strung up, still illuminated, decorating the wall dedicated to lovingly-made artwork depicting beautiful, brightly-coloured tropical flowers, animals, fish and giant otters, sharks, dolphins, photographs taken deep in the heart of lush forests and gorgeous tropical beaches, birthday and Miss You cards and mementos from concerts and holidays and films, tickets for the Shakespeare play _A Midsummer Night's Dream_, and _Romeo and Juliet_ performed at the Globe Theatre in London, hand-written recipes gifted from friends, in what looked like _Toby's_ handwriting. An acoustic guitar with a small silver engraved plaque stood in its stand by the door; Torin knelt and read the engraving.

_For my dearest Emmeline,_

_May your voice never cease to be transcendent,_

_Your own Mamma._

There were books in English and DVD cases piled on every surface available, the television missing from the living-room set on a bedside cabinet, and a handmade cupcake-shaped pincushion beside a small pile of clothes in the middle of being darned, beside a hand-made unique jewellery box made out of what looked like bamboo, coconuts, shells and _real _pearls contained a cornucopia of tropical treasures, necklaces of shells, bone, pearls, coral and what looked like sharks' teeth, set on a small, antique writing desk with a small mirror. The necklaces were all handmade with the care and precision of patient hands, almost identical to the kinds of necklaces Heléne had made for herself on her island home. There was a bottle of perfume; Torin read the name, VivienneWestwood_ Jouy Boudoir_, but it had barely been used.

"Huh," Paris said softly, looking around the room. "It's very…"

"_Homey_," Torin supplied. It was evident Emmeline spent a lot, if not most, of her time in this room; while she wasn't a slob like some of the guys, there were clothes piled in the laundry hamper, and at the foot of her bed in a laundry basket was a supply of baby clothes and blankets fresh from the washing-machine. There were scented candles everywhere, a crumb-laden plate on the bedside cabinet with a teacup. A small makeshift playpen intended for Lilli had been set up beside the bed with several colourful toys, but the double-bed was neatly made with a heavy duvet and blankets, and a hippopotamus plush toy.

"I could actually live in here," Paris remarked thoughtfully. "What's she reading?" They explored the room, Torin feeling much more distinctly like a voyeur than he ever had observing Buda through his cameras: Emmeline loved reading fantasy fiction novels, some supernatural erotica by Kresley Cole, historical romance novels like the _Desperate Duchesses_ series; _The Vampire Chronicles_, _Lord of the Rings_; she owned the _Twilight_ series but they were not nearly as well-loved as _Harry Potter_, some of which were falling apart at the binding; she had books by Louisa May Alcott, Frances Hodgson Burnett, Terry Goodkind, Jane Austen, Leo Tolstoy, _Gone With the Wind_, _Age of Innocence_, _Atonement, _Oscar Wilde, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Lewis Carroll and C.S. Lewis.

"What're you watching?" Torin murmured, turning on the DVD player. There was a stack of DVDs beside it—many Disney films, _Marie Antoinette, Ocean's Eleven, The Duchess, Hocus Pocus, Secret of Moonacre, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, The Spiderwick Chronicles, Underworld, Avatar, _both _Chronicles of Narnia_ films, _Weird Science, Ferris Bueller's Day Off, Rocky Horror Picture Show, The Young Victoria_, one disc from a _Roseanne_ series, another from _NCIS_, _Dirty Dancing _and _Gossip Girl_, _The Tudors_ and _Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves_, _Romeo + Juliet_, _Seven Brides for Seven Brothers_, _Stardust, Titanic, Uncle Buck, Without a Paddle, _the _X-Men_ series, _The Full Monty, Atonement, Gladiator, _were just a few of them. He pressed play to see what movie Emmeline was watching, and Paris sidled up beside him, his nose in _When the Duke Returns_, which he had found on Emmeline's bedside cabinet with a bookmark in it.

"Ooh, _The Blue Lagoon_," Paris sighed, glancing at the screen as a ship sailed through a treacherously tranquil sea. Torin frowned at him, wondering how on earth he knew the movie in the first clip. "It's a classic! Remember, when I was going through my _Levi's_ phase?"

"Oh yeah. Brooke Shields," Torin nodded. That had been, what, thirty years ago? _I feel old_, he thought, for the millionth time, watching two young children being shipwrecked on an idyllic island with a gruff but loveable pirate-cook. He wondered why Emmeline liked this movie, other than the obvious reason, being the blonde actor playing the teenaged Richard. He could have quite happily made himself comfortable on Emmeline's bed and watched the movie, but Paris was folding up the tiny little baby clothes into a duffel bag he found in the top of Emmeline's closet, which was filled with men's shirts all labelled _J Sully_ on the inside collar, comfortable jeans, warm pyjamas, a big fluffy dressing-gown, and surprisingly a great number of floaty floral summer dresses, which all spoke of money. They were a surprising facet of the girl Torin had seen today, the one in a man's—her father's—shirt and coat, baggy jeans and tattered sneakers.

"You put some of her clothes in a bag?" Torin said to Paris. "I'll check out the rest of the house." He didn't know what he was looking for, perhaps more information about the girl who liked fantasy fiction novels and romantic and/or action-packed movies, but he searched the rest of the rooms; there was a guest bedroom, an upstairs study that might have belonged to the girl's mother, and… Torin's stomach disappeared as he entered the master bedroom.

Whoever had been sent to clean up the crime scene hadn't been able to finish the job very well. There were remnants of bloodstains everywhere, on the walls; the curtains, the bedding, the rugs, they had all been removed, but there were still bloodstains on the walls, the glossy antique wooden floor… He closed the door again, leaving the room be. He couldn't imagine how the girl could live in the same house her parents had been slaughtered in.

He returned to the girl's bedroom, finding Paris filling a small suitcase with clothes for Emmeline. "Find anything?"

"Oh, yeah. The master bedroom," Torin said darkly, gesturing at the door at the other end of the hall. "It's cosy if you're Hannibal Ector."

"That gruesome?" Paris stared, then shook his head, eyes wide. He finished packing some pretty underwear in the top of the bag and grabbed the hippopotamus plush from the girl's bed. Torin noticed Paris had packed the toys in the makeshift playpen and the jewellery box, the girl's latest novel and the next in the series in the duffel for the girl with a toiletries bag from her little en-suite bathroom, and downstairs in the kitchen Paris retrieved the textbooks and work the girl had been in the midst of completing. Torin carried the bag filled with things for Lilli, including a tiny pink plush jellyfish he recognised from Sasha's _Finding Nemo_ movie, and a blanket he had found in the cot, and the mobile that had hung above it, which was made of seashells, pearls, baby starfish and sand-dollars, and which played Schubert's 'Standchen'from a tiny, old-fashioned windup music box.

"You know what this means, don't you?" Torin said quietly, looking around the room. It was creative clutter, the kind where the owner of the room knew where everything was despite nobody else seeing any pattern in the organisation. It was like Danika's art studio.

"What?" Paris murmured.

"The girl _has_ been living here alone," Torin said quietly, looking around. It was very evident that the girl loved big, brightly coloured tropical flowers, the kind Heléne filled her and Kane's room with, the kind Danika used for still-life art classes for the kids on Saturday afternoons. Big fat hibiscus, chains of orchids, birds of paradise and plumeria, all kinds of lilies. There were photographs of the girl and her mother and a blonde woman on the most pristine white-silver beach studded with beautiful shells, the sky a blazing, cloudless azure blue behind, lush palm trees leaning over the frothy water, all of them with their hair loose, swathes of sandy-coloured fabric tied carelessly around their hips, with only garlands of flowers, shells and ropes of pearls covering their breasts, tropical flowers plaited into their hair, a vibrant blue-yellow parrot sitting on Euphrasia's shoulder, a tiny squirrel monkey curled on Emmeline's knee, offering him a banana…

"Paris," Torin frowned, looking closer at the photograph, at the blonde woman sitting beside Euphrasia. "Paris, come here!"

"What?" Paris frowned, leaning closer. Torin pointed to the blonde woman.

"Hel."

* * *

**A.N.**: Please review!


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